


Brought to Life

by PhoenixDowner



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, F/M, Inspired by Pygmalion and Galatea (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Kissing, POV Naminé (Kingdom Hearts), Post-Canon, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Romance, Sculpture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24658708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixDowner/pseuds/PhoenixDowner
Summary: Naminé is a master sculptor capable of making anything she puts her mind to. One fateful day, she outdoes herself in the form of a statue she feels strangely drawn to. Inspired by the Greek myth Pygmalion.
Relationships: Naminé/Roxas (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	Brought to Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nami_no_hoshi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nami_no_hoshi/gifts).



There was nothing Naminé liked more than art.

She started out by drawing on spare scraps of paper her father left around his workshop. Little scrawls and scribbles with pencil stubs as she watched him sculpt works for his many clients. He was the most respected sculptor in the city, and he always had a long list of commissions to work on. 

When Naminé wasn’t helping her mother with chores around the house, she spent every spare moment watching her father at work. Once she was old enough, he enlisted her help and then formally signed her on as an apprentice. From then on, every spare moment she spent in his workshop honing her craft. She learned to work with a variety of mediums—wood, stone, clay, metal—but marble was her favorite. It was easy to mold and yet resistant to shattering, and she loved the feel of its texture beneath her fingers and its slight translucence that mimicked human skin. 

As the years passed, Naminé developed a reputation as something of a prodigy. People began to ask her to craft special orders under her own name and not her father’s. And when she wasn’t working in her father’s workshop, she worked with a master painter in the city and learned his secrets, too. By the time her twentieth birthday had arrived, she had quite the following of her own and was set for a life of steady work and happy clients for both sculpture and painting. 

There was just one catch. She had no one with which to live her life, and her parents were not getting any younger. They worried about who would take care of her once they were gone and urged her to find someone to marry.

“The two of you are still young,” she told them as she added the finishing touches to a painting of their splendid city during its summer festival for the goddess Aphrodite. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. I have clients enough to last me for the rest of my days.” 

“Naminé, we’re not worried about your ability to provide for yourself,” her mother said as she took a seat on one of the workbenches. Her blond hair cascaded down her shoulders, and her blue eyes were filled with worry for her daughter. “Ever since you were little, we’ve known you’re talented, and your hard work has ensured you’ll be able to take care of yourself for the rest of your days.” 

“What we’re worried about is that you’ll be lonely,” her father said. His dark hair had a few streaks of gray in it now, but his blue eyes were as intense as ever, and Naminé knew he had many years of life ahead of him yet.

“Lonely?” Naminé set her paintbrush down. Why should she be lonely with such a happy family and so many happy clients? Her parents’ friends were wonderful too, and she never lacked for company if she so desired it.

“Don’t you want someone to spend the rest of your days with?” her mother said. 

“Oh, like a husband?” 

Her parents both nodded, and she glanced outside. She often saw young men pass by their shop when she worked into the twilight hours; it was on the way to a rather seedy part of the city, and she was less than impressed by the effects of alcohol, gambling, and prostitutes on the young men. Didn’t they have any respect for their wives and families?

Naminé sniffed. She had no use for a husband who would drink himself into a stupor, gamble her hard-earned money away, and then spend the night using the body of some poor woman whose name he couldn’t even be bothered to remember, all while his wife waited lonely and unsatisfied at home for him to come home at the crack of dawn to pass out and sleep the morning away while she did the chores. She would rather be alone forever than be miserably married to such a man. 

“I’m not interested in any of the men I’ve met,” she said. “I’m not interested in marriage at all.”

Let her parents think what they would about her words, but she would not be persuaded to chain herself to a miserable marriage. She had never met a man she would be interested in marrying, and she doubted that would change. There were plenty of good men in the world, but the ones she knew were all already married, and she had no taste for adultery or affairs. 

Her parents dropped the subject for now, but every now and then it would come up in conversation. One breezy autumn day, as they ate lunch on the terrace of their home, it came up again, and with a vengeance.

“Naminé,” her father said, not even trying to hide the exasperation in his voice, “if you don’t ever meet any young men, how would you know you’re not interested in marriage?” 

“It’s true. You spend so much time in the workshop and hardly any time at all meeting people your age,” her mother said as she sipped her goblet of wine. 

“I have a lot of work to do,” Naminé replied. “If I work hard now, I can build a good reputation for myself and have more flexibility when I’m older. Then I can think about marriage.” 

There was no point in rushing. Right now, her career took center stage. Marriage could come much later… if at all. 

Her mother daintily patted her mouth with her napkin. “Do you even know what you want in a husband?” 

Naminé thought for a moment. “Someone kind and caring, someone loyal and true. A man who would defend me from harm and never betray my trust. A man who would love me and want to be with me always.” 

Her father brightened. “Those are all good qualities. Why don’t I inquire with a matchmaker about—”

She shook her head. “It’s okay, father. I don’t think such a man exists. Or if he does, he’s already happily married to someone else.”

Her parents dropped the subject once more, but their conversation haunted her. She had little faith her dream man existed, but her life as an artist had taught her that she could create things out of nothing. She could make things a reality that had only existed in her head before. 

She stayed in the workshop after she’d finished the day’s work. A big hunk of marble had been delivered yesterday, and she had let it sit there, unsure of what to do with it. It was far too big to make a bust out of, and no one had commissioned her to make any full-body sculptures lately. 

But tonight, she had just the idea. Grabbing some wire, her fingers worked swiftly and deftly to craft a basic human figure. Then she took a large lump of clay and shaped it around the frame to get an overall idea of what she wanted the sculpture to look like. 

Content with what she had so far, she went to bed, physically tired but mentally alert. The next few weeks she spent building a full scale model and then added tacks at key points. Once she was happy with their locations, she transferred the tacks to the block of marble to get a sense of scale. 

This next part was what she’d been looking forward to the most. Mallet and chisel in hand, she went to work bringing out the man trapped inside the marble. A dynamic pose to emphasize his movement, to make him seem real. A broad chest and wide shoulders, strong enough to wield a sword and protect her from harm. A resolute expression on his face, because he was passionate and driven. And yet his eyes needed to look at her just right; had to be both both determined and gentle. 

This process took months, especially because Naminé still had her clients’ commissions to work on. She usually only had time to work on the sculpture of the man during the evening after her other duties were fulfilled, and she spent many a late night working on him. But as he became more and more lifelike with each passing day, she was more determined than ever to finish her work. Now she was using a more specific set of tools; tooth chisels and claw chisels and rasps and rifflers. 

When at last the sculpture before her matched the image in her head and the models she’d made, it was time to sand the uneven parts down with a special rough stone called emery. The color of the marble shone through in this process as a thin patina developed over its surface, and she also added a sealing compound to make the marble practically glow. 

Now for the reason she’d studied painting: so she could paint her own statues. She gave the man blond hair and blue eyes with Naples yellow and Egyptian blue. His hair was brighter gold than her own, so bright it was like the daffodils that grew in her family’s garden. And his eyes were darker blue than her own, as blue as the water in the fountain reflecting the color of the tiles beneath it. She painted his skin and clothes with a variety of other fine pigments. Dragon’s blood, lead white, and lamp black contrasted nicely with his hair and were what she largely used for his clothes. 

At long last, after over a year’s worth of work, she was finished. She set her paintbrushes down and stared at her creation. This was what she had worked so hard on, what she had poured hundreds of hours of sweat and tears and the occasional drop of blood into. Her ideal man. His golden hair swept up towards the sky, and his blue eyes gazed down at her. The robes draped from his arms and legs were so realistic they almost seemed like actual clothes, and his striking pose made him look like a warrior or messenger coming down from the heavens to protect her.

She brought her hand to her cheek, and it was hot. Was she really… blushing? Just from looking at a statue she’d made? How was this even…

She ducked her head and then looked back at the statue, mesmerized by her own creation. He was handsome and dashing, tall and strong and true. Loyal and faithful because he knew only her, knew only her touch which had spent hours bringing him into being. 

It was a good thing he wasn’t real. Otherwise he would be disloyal, just like the others. Just like her first love who had—

She cleared her throat and looked away. She wouldn’t think about that man and how he’d broken her heart, finding shelter in the arms of another woman instead of her arms. Because now she had a man that would never leave her, never abandon her, never betray her. 

Maybe he wasn’t real, but she couldn’t risk her heart on a real man again. 

Right?

* * *

Though the statue was, by her father’s estimation, her greatest work yet, Naminé refused to sell it. She didn’t even want other people seeing it lest they get any ideas. Very rarely did she keep any of her works for herself, but this one was an exception. She was keeping it for the rest of her days.

She found her eyes drawn to it often as she worked, and her blush returned when she glanced at it. It was so lifelike, so realistic, that she couldn’t help but be drawn to it. No, to him. Referring to him as an it felt wrong. The more she looked at him, the more she felt he had a soul trapped in the rock, much like his form had once been trapped in the rock.

Late at night, after her father had gone to bed and the other workers had gone home, she’d taken to lingering in the workshop to spend a few more moments with him. As she gazed into his eyes one summer night, the moonlight shining on his face, a thought occurred to her.

“I haven’t given you a name yet.” 

She pressed her fingers together as she thought. He needed a name, a fitting name… 

“You were hewn out of marble, out of rock…” She smiled. “Roxas. Your name is Roxas.”

He gazed at her steadily, and her blush spread up her cheeks. The name was perfect, just like he was perfect. She reached for his hand and wrapped her fingers around it. Her hand fit perfectly in his, and she sighed. 

“Roxas, I think I love you.” 

Her breath caught in her throat. Had she really just said those words out loud? Was she really in love with a statue? How awful, how could she have let this happen—

Ashamed, she fled from the workshop and retreated to her room and buried herself under her blankets. This had gone on for too long. Roxas had bewitched her, heart and body and soul, and a statue so powerful must be cursed with evil magic. She had to get rid of him as soon as possible before some disastrous fate fell upon her and her family. 

But the thought of losing him, the thought of losing her beloved Roxas, made her heart sink. Could she so easily throw him out when she had made him? Cast him aside like her first love had cast her aside? 

Still, this obsession wasn’t healthy. She needed to do something about it. Tomorrow was the first day of the festival for Aphrodite. Maybe, if she went to the goddess’s temple and prayed, Aphrodite would send her a real man that would make her forget all about her infatuation with a statue. 

Yes, that was what she would do. Satisfied now that she had a plan, she was able to go to sleep. But as she slipped from consciousness, it was Roxas’s chiseled marble face that lingered in her mind.

* * *

Naminé rose early the next morning for the festival so she could carefully select some choice flowers from her family’s garden to offer as a gift to Aphrodite. It wouldn’t do to approach the goddess empty-handed, and so Naminé made sure she had an offering worthy of the city’s deity.

The flowers selected, she made her way to the sanctuary of Aphrodite, where the altar of Aphrodite rested. Throngs of people surrounded her, as the festival was already underway, and it took quite some time before she made it inside the sanctuary, let alone to where the altar was. But at last it was her turn to offer a gift to the goddess, and as she did, she made a wish, her voice barely above a whisper.

“If it so pleases you, Aphrodite, I would like to wish for a husband in the likeness of my Roxas.” 

In her heart of hearts, she knew the wish was not entirely true. She didn’t just want a husband in the likeness of Roxas, she wanted Roxas to be her husband. But she was still too ashamed to admit her true desire, so she went home and returned to the workshop. A particularly wealthy patron had requested a bust of him and his wife, and she wanted to get at least a little work done for his request today. 

But when she entered the studio, Roxas was there waiting for her. He looked even more handsome and lifelike than ever, and a strange urge came over her. Her feet carried her to him, as if she was being carried along by the breeze. She cupped his cheek, and she could’ve sworn his skin felt soft beneath her touch. 

“Roxas,” she said, her voice breaking. “My dear Roxas. How badly do I wish you were real.” 

His blue eyes steadily gazed back at her as she stroked his face. Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed her mouth against his in a sweet kiss, her eyes fluttering shut as she indulged the fantasy that had taken root in her heart from the moment she’d named him. To her surprise, his lips felt warm. She leaned back a little, her lips parting and her eyes widening, then kissed him again.

This time, she didn’t stop kissing him, even when his lips grew warmer and his skin grew ever softer against her touch. And then his arms went around her and he was kissing her back. A soft cry caught in her throat as he did. This was real. He was real, and he was holding her in his arms like she’d dreamed he would.

She remembered. She remembered everything. Why no man she’d ever met could satisfy her. No man in this life, anyway. Why her heart was so drawn to a statue of him, to this man she loved with all her heart. Her Roxas was in her arms, and all was right in the World again. 

When they finally broke apart, she was breathless. She would’ve fallen if he hadn’t caught her and gently pulled her up.

“Naminé,” he said, his voice breaking as he looked into her eyes and caressed her cheek. 

She hugged him again. “Roxas—”

He held her and comforted her as she cried, reassuring her that their long separation was over, that he was here and they were together again. 

“We promised, remember? ‘We’ll meet again,’” he said, smiling as he repeated the words she’d told him so long ago. “So here I am. It wasn’t the way I was expecting, exactly, but what matters is that I’m here and we’re together.” 

“Yes.” She found his hand and held it. Even when her mind had forgotten him, her heart hadn’t. Her body hadn’t either; it had guided her through the long process it had taken to bring him back to life, and it was responding so wonderfully to his touch. 

He scooped her up in his arms. “Shall we?” he said as she laughed lightly. 

“Yes, we shall.” 

As he carried her out of the workshop and to the house, she couldn’t take her eyes off of his face. They were together again at long last, and she wanted to make the most of every moment.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for nami_no_hoshi! Rokunami is dear to her heart, and she’s poured so much love and effort into the Rokunami fandom. I wanted to write something for her to thank her for that, as well as to thank her for supporting me :) 
> 
> [This guide](http://www.visual-arts-cork.com/sculpture/marble.htm) was really helpful in terms of how to make a marble sculpture, and I drew heavily on it when I wrote the descriptions of Naminé making the sculpture of Roxas. Also, thank you to Rapis_Razuri for looking over things for me and providing suggestions and feedback!
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed!


End file.
